Not This Time
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: Even ten seconds of unconsciousness in water could make a difference. A life and death difference.


Title: Not This Time

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: set S3

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: This is a straggler piece to finish up the Summer of Sam Love fic exchange. I'm so sorry this is SO late. We were hoping everyone was taken care of but when we realized that they weren't, we didn't want to leave Manavie without. So this fic is for her. It's meager and a broad interpretation of the prompt, but I hope it's some compensation for your effort this summer. Beta'ed by geminigrl11.

Prompt: Sam saves Dean from some kind of creature and boys get hurt on the process.

Summary: Even ten seconds of unconsciousness in water could make a difference. A life and death difference.

-o-

They weren't even supposed to be _near _the water.

At least that's what Dean kept telling himself as he dove beneath it, eyes straining to see through the gloom.

The hunt was standard, simple and to the point. An angry spirit, some bones to burn, nothing to it.

Nothing except a pissed off spirit catching them off guard and a flooded brook far too close to the cemetery. Oh, and a six foot four little brother who must have ATTACK ME plastered to his forehead for all supernatural baddies to see.

Dean had torched the bones and the evil SOB was gone. But so was Sam.

He _knew_. The splash and the eerie absence of Sam had been enough to tell him. Getting tossed around was normal enough for them. Brief lapses of consciousness weren't all that uncommon either. And normally it wasn't a big deal--ghosts weren't generally the most efficient things in the world--but with water?

Even ten seconds of unconsciousness in water could make a difference. A life and death difference.

And Sam had been down a lot more than ten seconds. A minute, two minutes, five minutes...

Dean lost count as he dove down again.

The water was murky, obscured by darkness. It wasn't overly deep, which Dean supposed was a small blessing, but there was a current, which Dean knew was working to his disadvantage. Sam could be anywhere--downstream, caught on a rock, a branch, anything. And Dean had no way of knowing, no way of helping, no way...

His heart was pounding and his throat was tightening. Hell, he might as well have been the one drowning--he couldn't breathe all the same. Because Sam was somewhere under water. Somewhere dark and cold and devoid of oxygen and the only person who could save him was Dean.

Only Dean couldn't see him, couldn't find him and the seconds were ticking by like the heartbeats Sam probably wasn't having.

Tears stung his eyes, not that it mattered with the water blurring them anyway. Above water, he scanned the surface, looking for a sign, for something, for anything.

Nothing but a steady stream, moving onward, past him, mocking him.

He screamed his brother's name, desperate.

The rushing current was his only reply.

Desperate, he went under again, hands out, probing, looking for anything.

Then he saw it.

Nothing more than a dark blob, oddly shaped. Distinctive enough, though. Not a branch, not a rock.

Sam.

His lungs screamed in protest, but he didn't surface. He didn't dare lose sight of his brother.

Swimming forward, he edged to the side, fingers grasping for his brother's limp form.

They found purchase. Fingers on cloth. Dean grabbed and pulled Sam to him, encircling his hands around his brother's chest. Secure, he pushed up.

The creek was shallow enough at this end that he could stand, but deep enough that it wasn't an easy task. On his feet, Sam pulled tight to his chest, the water rushed at Dean's lower chest, making movement more than a little difficult.

Dean didn't notice. All he noticed was the stillness of Sam's body slumped against his own.

With frantic strides, he moved against the stream, moving toward the edge of the creek. It was a slow process, too slow, and when he finally reached the bank, he nearly stumbled under Sam's weight. Getting out of the water was even harder--Sam's body was heavy and wet and far too limp. Movement was awkward, hard.

Dean cursed under his breath. "Come on, Sammy," he muttered. "Help me out here."

Sam didn't move, didn't even twitch, but it didn't matter. Dean's feet found leverage and he was able to navigate his way to the bank, somehow dragging Sam with him.

On solid ground, Dean collapsed, Sam falling heavily on top of him. Panting, Dean scrambled, maneuvering himself out from under his brother and laying Sam flat on the ground.

It was then that Dean couldn't avoid the truth any longer.

Sam was dead.

Dean's teeth clenched so hard his jaw hurt and his chest tightened so much that his breath stopped dead in his chest.

Sam was dead.

Just like at Cold Oak. Just like before. Cold, pale, greying, lifeless.

No.

Not like before.

Dean didn't even stop to check. He didn't have to. Sam wasn't breathing and Dean knew his heart wasn't beating. Knew it like the pain in his chest. Like the absence already aching in his heart.

He couldn't let this happen. He wouldn't.

"Not this time, Sammy," he said, tilting Sam's head back.

Pinching his brother's nose, he leaned down, puffing air into his brother's lungs.

Sam's responded in kind, rising up and down before stilling.

Dean didn't wait. Arms straight, he moved to Sam's chest, pressing down hard and fast, hard and fast (that's the only way it'll work, son).

Sam's lips were cold. His chest was pliable. Sam's body lay prone, his limbs outstretched and limp, his hair plastered to his forehead in clumps.

But Dean would not accept death. He would never accept it. He'd sold his soul to avoid this, given up everything to circumvent it, and he'd be damned if a creek took it from him now.

He'd do anything for Sam. He'd already made a deal with the devil. There was nothing else to do...nothing left to hold onto but faith. Belief that this couldn't happen. That there was something out there bigger than both of them, something out there besides him who wanted Sam alive and okay and...

Suddenly, Sam gasped, gurgling and lurching.

Dean sat back, almost shocked, before turning his brother to his side, hands on him supporting, encouraging. "Breathe, Sammy, just breathe."

And Sam did. Coughing, spluttering breaths. Breathing.

Life.

As Dean sat there, watching his brother breathe, he couldn't help but think. He was the one who had pulled Sam out of the creek. He was the one who had performed CPR. But something else had given Sam life.

Something else.

Maybe Sam had been right.

"Easy, Sammy," he soothed. "Easy."

Sam was blinking, trying to sit up, disoriented.

"You just drowned--you think you can take it easy?"

But Sam couldn't. Finally sitting, his chest still heaving, he looked up at Dean. "Dean--what--"

"The thing tossed you in the creek," Dean said. "You tried scuba diving without an oxygen tank."

Sam's brow furrowed. "But, I--I was dead?"

"Seems to be a bad habit of yours," Dean chided.

"You--brought me back?"

"Good old CPR," Dean said. "Now you know how far I'd go. I had to kiss you, man."

The joking was beyond Sam, and his eyes were wide and staring as he shivered in the night. "You always save me," he said, almost exhaling the words.

Dean swallowed hard against the emotion, the doubt. "We save each other," Dean said, his chest still feeling tight. "We always save each other."

It was enough, and Sam sagged back in relief.

Dean's hand rested on Sam's shoulder, feeling his little brother breathing, wondering when all of this would stop, when they would have given enough, if Sam would have anything left to believe in, anything left to save him--to save both of them.

Dean had never been one who needed faith. But knowing what Sam was facing, the life Sam would live alone, Dean had never wanted to believe so badly.


End file.
